Acknowledging
by OtterAndTerrier
Summary: During a certain Potions class in fourth year, Ron comes to a second realization about Hermione Granger.


Someone on Tumblr asked whether there was a fic about Ron's inner monologue once he finds out Hermione is the person Krum would miss most, and I came up with this. The actual prompt is part of a flashback, as the story focuses on a different moment and a different sort of realization. I had fun writing this... hopefully I got Ron's voice moderately right (at least my innate tendency to swear comes in handy for these situations).

Thanks again to **jenahid** for helping me out, and thanks a lot to you for reading!

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**Acknowledging**

Ron's ears felt like a couple of lit braziers set on either side of his head as he continued to pound his scarab beetles, the desk all to himself. It was a good thing Snape had sent Hermione to sit somewhere else, even if it meant she'd have to put up with that cow Pansy Parkinson; otherwise he'd...

Well, he didn't know what he would have done, or said to her. Maybe he didn't want to talk to Hermione at all.

He was just outraged by Krum's nerve. How did he _dare_ ask Hermione to visit him in freaking Bulgaria? They'd only been to _one_ date, one meaningless, pointless date to the Yule Ball, which all the kids at Hogwarts had attended, too, with their meaningless, pointless dates. It didn't really count as a date-date.

Ron was sure that Hermione hadn't gone out with Krum to Hogsmeade, for instance, because she'd always been with him and Harry. Had Hermione been seeing Krum behind their backs?

No, Ron decided, that was ridiculous. The only times when Hermione was not with him and Harry was when she had her other classes, or when she was at the library. Or when she went to the bathroom. Or to bed. All places where Krum would not follow her, unless he was some creepy stalker.

Which he might well be, from what Ron had heard. What kind of psycho would invite a fifteen-year-old girl to his place in a whole different country after knowing her for only two months? Less than that: _one date_. He'd had one date to know Hermione. Ron had known Hermione for almost four years—and Harry, too, of course. She would _not_ have said yes to that. She couldn't have. It was barmy.

He snapped his head up, glaring at Hermione's profile a couple of desks forward to his right as if daring her to attest to her mental health. She was still red in the face, but stubbornly working on her potion. Ron realized she was doing her best to ignore Parkinson, who looked like she was talking to herself but was in fact muttering stupid remarks to Hermione.

Krum did stalk Hermione in the library, though, before he invited her to the Yule Ball, and she had said yes anyway, even though it sounded really disturbing to Ron. But going to Bulgaria? She'd have to be bonkers to take up on that offer.

The idea of Hermione meeting up with Krum in a secluded spot of the library did nothing to pale the colour of his ears. What if the bloke wanted to snog her and she didn't? Krum was so much older than Hermione, and from Durmstrang. Everybody knew what _those_ were on about. What if he tried to force her?

Ron cursed under his breath as he realized he'd cut one of his ginger roots wrong. An unwilling memory crept back into his mind: they had been at McGonagall's office, where Dumbledore explained that the task for the champions was to rescue each of them from the lake. He supposed that made much more sense than if it'd been an actual possession; otherwise a Summoning Charm would do the trick and they wouldn't need to risk their lives over something like a broomstick. But what Ron didn't understand was why both Hermione and he were there. The song said that the merpeople would take something—someone, they now knew—that the champions would miss. Did they know that Harry wouldn't choose between his two friends? That seemed only fair, except that Harry would have to drag both of them out of the lake, and he didn't even know if he was going to make it into the water at all.

It had been only the two of them and Cho Chang waiting at first; Fleur Delacour's sister had arrived minutes later, and Ron assumed Krum's person was coming from his home country, too. But once the little girl entered alone, after getting a long hug from her mother—a carbon copy of Fleur—Dumbledore told them to lie down on the floor, and Ron frowned. Was he not entering this challenge? Was there no one Krum would miss?

He had glanced at Hermione then, to exchange a questioning look and perhaps receive a shrug in response, but she was avoiding his gaze and blushing. It had hit him, then. Ron sat slowly on the floor and lay down like they were told to, but it was more because he felt dizzy and sick than anything else. When Dumbledore asked if they had any final questions, he'd wanted to scream, '_Yes! How are you letting this happen? He doesn't even know her! How can she be the thing he'd miss the most?_'

He groped blindly for a new root, his mouth twisting in response to the sinking sensation he felt on his stomach.

This all had been a mistake, a big misunderstanding. Hermione should have never gone to the Yule Ball with Krum, not more than Ron with Padma Patil. He knew he'd said he'd rather go with someone like Fleur, but it was different for guys. He'd just wanted to strut into the Great Hall, looking good for once in his life and with someone cool next to him. Get a kiss by the end of the night, if things went well. No more than that. But girls expected more, he thought, so it was bad that Hermione had showed up with Krum. She should have gone with Ron, so they could join Harry and have a blast. They belonged together. _Well, with Harry, too, of course!,_ he added, alarmed. But even when Harry wasn't around, he and Hermione got along well, generally. What did she and bloody Vicky even talked about? The wanker didn't even know how to pronounce her name right!

Ron slammed his knife so forcefully on the desk that another mark was now imprinted on the wood, next to the one he'd left earlier with his pestle. A few heads turned around, but not Hermione. He thought he saw her flinching.

He had no right. Krum had _no right_ to come and sweep Hermione off her feet and whisk her off to Bulgaria or anywhere else. Of course any girl would fall for his foreign looks, his older-guy experience and his fame, but that didn't mean he should just take his pick and do as he wanted. And what could Ron do about it? He had already warned her, and Hermione didn't want to listen. He knew that the more he insisted against it, the more Hermione wouldn't want to listen. That was just the way they worked. Perhaps if Ron started encouraging her to go out with Krum, she'd stop seeing him altogether. _Right_, he thought bitterly. As if he'd ever do that.

Encourage her, never, but he could try Harry's attitude of not giving a rat's arse. Ron knew he would have a hard time doing it, though, while Harry genuinely didn't seem to care who Hermione went out with. And why did he, Ron, care?

Well... He didn't. He wouldn't. He cared like big brothers did, because he would do the same with Ginny, but Hermione didn't seem to appreciate it and she was not his sister.

_Hermione was not his sister_.

Ron glanced at Hermione again, tossing his properly cut roots into the cauldron. It was a good thing his friend was still avoiding looking at him as much she avoided Pansy.

The realization hit him just like when he'd voiced his acknowledgement of Hermione belonging to the female sex. Of course he'd known both things. He wasn't _that_ thick. It was simply that it was different, knowing than acknowledging. Knowing was like, knowing that the sky is blue and the grass green. You just know it; you see it every day, but you keep going. Sometimes, though, you stop and look up, and you notice that that there are clouds, or that the blue is so intense it seems unreal, or that there's a soft glow that paints everything pink and yellow. That was acknowledging, when you saw something under a new light.

And, Ron had to admit to himself, seeing Hermione under a new light scared him.


End file.
